


The Devil's Angel

by belovedbey



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Cinnamon Roll Newt Scamander, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Newt Can Tame Any Beast, Original Percival Graves is Hades, Smitten Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedbey/pseuds/belovedbey
Summary: Percival Graves does not need a Queen. Or does he?





	The Devil's Angel

“Percival, My Lord,” his second-in-command spoke, bowed before him as he sat in his onyx throne, grey eyes aflame at having Abernathy interrupt his plotting. 

“What do you want?” He asked, voice sharp like a sword and echoing off the walls of the throne room, but Abernathy seemed unphased. After all, you get used to the Ruler of the Underworld’s attitude after working under him for over a millennium.

“Well… how would you feel about having a—”

“If what I think is going to come out of your mouth is correct, then no,” Percival cut him off, expression less than amused. “You ask me this every year and I refuse repeatedly.”

“But Sir—”

“No.” He didn’t raise his voice whatsoever, but infused it with such a malice that made it seem as if he did, causing Abernathy to flinch and direct his eyes to the polished floor, which was made out of the same onyx of Percival’s throne.

Another voice met his ears from behind Abernathy and he watched as Seraphina moved around the man, hands folded before her as a devious smile adorned her face. “Even though I know you most detest the idea of having a Queen, I believe you should take a look at the one Abernathy’s picked out this time.” Her sparkling eyes and convinced tone made Percival narrow his eyes at the elegant woman.

“What has made you take his side this time, Picquery?” All she answered with was a shrug of her shoulders, the ends of her blood-red dress momentarily lifting from the floor, satin reflecting the light from the torches mounted on the wall. Looking back and forth between the pair’s identically hopeful faces, he pinched the bridge of his nose and released an exasperated sigh. The tenseness of the following silence ceased when he hastily stood, demeanour lacking in the enthusiasm department. 

“If I don’t fall in love at first sight, I swear to myself that I will have you both personally groom Cerberus for a year.” Abernathy’s face drained of colour at the mention of the three-headed dog, but Seraphina remained confident in her stance, going as far as to excitedly clap. Not even one of Percival’s infamous glares broke her incessant joy. 

“If you’d please come with me then, Mr. Hades,” she spoke teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows and extending her right arm toward him. “Your Queen awaits.”

“Remind me again why I keep you here, Picquery,” Percival drawled, moving so graciously that it wouldn’t be surprising if he was floating, joining her at her side. 

“Because your gardens would look absolutely dreadful,” she answered half-jokingly, eliciting a rare grin from the man as he looped his arm with hers. The smile vanished the moment he remembered what they were doing and he had to restrain from sighing again.

“Take me to this incredible being, as according to you,” he ordered, giving Abernathy who still stiffly stood in his place a farewell nod, before the pair dematerialised. Off somewhere in the distance, Abernathy could hear a ferocious roar emanate from the Cerberus, and an unsettled feeling twisted his gut. He hoped he picked well this time.

***

When they came to, Percival observed his surroundings, brows aloft with confusion. They stood in a field with rows upon rows of violet flowers spanning all the way to the horizon, saturating the air with their floral but pleasant aroma, and the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden light upon everything in sight. “Where are we?” He asked, watching as people traipsed up and down amongst the bushes. 

“Provence, France, in a lavender field it seems,” she stated matter-of-factly, letting one of her hands brush over one of the waist-high plants. “Abernathy and I placed a tracking spell on the guy we’re seeking and it seems this is where he is at the current moment.” This explanation would’ve been fine if it weren’t for one word in the sentence that made his blood ran cold.

“Guy?” He asked, nostrils flaring as he tried not to explode in the middle of the field. Seraphina sensed Percival’s rage toward her and desperately seeked a valid excuse, but stopped when she caught sight of the man a few rows over, alone and muttering to himself as he walked along, running his fingers through the flowers. 

“There he is.” She pointed to where he was, but Percival ignored this.

“Do you think I give a fu—,”

“Just look at him, you hardass,” she snapped, causing Percival to huff and begrudgingly follow the direction that her finger pointed. His face was contorted with petulance, but as soon his eyes landed on the form of the man, he felt his breath catch in his throat. There, amongst the lovely plants, ambled a tall man whose aura was even lovelier than the surrounding flowers. His auburn hair, which was adorably tousled and hung across his forehead, and the red freckles that were so prominent he could see them from this far away, shone in the gold light in beautiful contrast against the backdrop of the lavender. He seemed to glow under the sun. As soon as she saw Percival’s expression, she knew her and Abernathy had won, but she was surprised when the man turned back to her, looking slightly panicked.

“He’s too beautiful for me.” This was something she hadn’t prepared for; Percival Graves, also known as Hades, the Ruler of the Underworld, becoming insecure upon seeing the beautiful man. “Are you sure he’s not an angel?”

“Yes, Percival. Although you are our superior, we are not stupid. Go talk to him,” she insisted, also admiring the man. She couldn’t help it. He looked like he belonged in a painting, but in a way, he was already in one; he was painted with the gold of the light and the purple of the flowers and the red of his hair and the white of his shirt and the orange of the sky, and it was breathtaking. 

Before he could argue, she vanished, returning to the Underworld so he couldn’t drag the conversation on even further, and he was left there alone, staring at the man in a totally-not-creepy manner. After ten minutes of just admiring, the man—who must’ve felt his eyes on him—looked from where he stopped amongst the lavender and made eye contact with Percival, skin tinging pink as he gifted him with a small smile. Uncaring of the well-being of the plants, Percival ungracefully clambered his way across them, probably flattening a few along the way but only caring about getting to his angel. As he drew closer, he realised that his angel was giggling, and even though his laughter was directed at him, he couldn’t care less, for the sound was better than the music of the Muses. 

“Hi,” was his angel’s first word to him, and just this near-whisper almost caused him to collapse. His eyes were a shining blue, an ocean that Percival desperately wished to lose himself in, and his lips were a soft pink.

“Hello, mon ange. What is your name?” The man blushed red to the tips of ears at being called the man’s angel, but he didn’t seem disturbed at all.

“Newt.” Percival blinked at the odd name, and Newt caught onto his reaction. “I know it’s rather odd—”

“It’s perfect. I’m Percival Graves,” he interrupted, utilising his full name to see if his angel would recognise it. It seemed the man did, as he looked up in shock, but he quickly recovered himself, kind smile returning to his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of finding Hades in my lavender field?” Upon learning that the lavender field was Newt’s, he cringed, looking back at the few of them he trampled on.

“This is yours?” He moved on, admired the immensity of the sea of purple with a new appreciation.

“Oh, yes. I’ve had it for about four years. It gives me something to put myself into; lavender has always been my favourite flower,” he spoke, caressing a blossom to his left with long, delicate fingers. 

He meant to say that the field was beautiful, but his mouth betrayed him amidst his thoughts of the same kind about his angel, and the words warped from It’s beautiful to “You’re beautiful.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he cursed himself in his head, but Newt’s smile widened and blush deepened, his head ducking at the unexpected compliment.

“Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself, Mr.” Before Percival could elaborate on that, Newt continued, “But seriously, I’d like to know how you, a most busy man, found his way to this one of many lavender fields in southeast France. I didn’t take the King of down-there to be one to casually stroll among the flora.”

“In all honesty, I am not. My second-in-command and my greenskeeper teamed up a while ago and they’ve been trying to find me a Queen, much to my exasperation. I’ve denied all of them.” Newt nodded at the explanation.

“So who’s the unfortunate gal this time around?” He asked jokingly, and Percival nearly laughed at the coincidence of the man’s obliviousness. 

“Well, I don’t think they’ll be unfortunate this time around.”

“Oooh, so this girl has made the big scary man feel something,” Newt teased, wiggling his eyebrows in the same manner that Seraphina had done earlier.

“It’s a boy. But yes, he has made me feel something,” Percival admitted, for he couldn’t dismiss the rapid beating of his “cold and dead heart”, as his brother once called it, while he spoke to his angel. “Would you like to be my Queen, Newt?” Freezing in his place, Newt looked at him with such shock that Percival grew concerned that his angel might pass out. 

“You… want me to be your Q-Queen?” He questioned, ducking his head once more at the unexpected proposition. “But… I—“

Not wishing to hear his angel’s insecurities, Percival closed the few feet between them with a stride forward and took hold of Newt’s chin, prompting them to make eye contact. “You best not finish that thought, mon ange. I’m not as handsome while angry.” Newt chuckled at this, but he stopped once realising how close they were.

“Would I be able to return here?” He asked shyly, eyes averting to anywhere but the man.

“Of course. I want you as my Queen, not my prisoner,” he responded, slightly affronted.

“Okay.” It was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear it, and he was surprised his angel complied so easily. 

“Okay? Really?” He almost cringed at the way he sounded; it sounded like he was a human child receiving an anticipated gift on Christmas.

“Really!” Newt answered in the same excited tone, poking fun at him. 

“Oh, shut up,” Percival muttered before completely devouring him. His angel, out of true fashion, tasted like lavender, and he later learned that he made his own tea out of the sprigs he picked from his own field.

When Newt later made his regular trips back to the mortal world, Percival could often be seen sipping at a cup of this lavender tea as he went about his torturous activities, and Seraphina loved to say it was because his Queen wasn’t around for him to snog to his pleasure, but Percival remained his stubborn self and retorted that he actually enjoyed the drink. She chose not to bring up that he never drank the tea when Newt was home, and instead celebrated with Abernathy that they wouldn’t have to groom Cerberus—if anyone had to do that, it would probably be Newt, for the three-headed dog had somehow generated an adoration for the man, even after he dubbed the beast with a name such as Lucy.

She supposed that wasn’t surprising though, for he managed to win over Percival Graves. He was the Devil’s Angel.


End file.
